The Aftermath
by elisclare
Summary: "A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT: Despite the story I'm about to tell, know that I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result."   inspired by The Book Theif. Rated T for a semi-mature theme./ONESHOT.


**A/N: I have no idea.**

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><p><strong>~A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT~<strong>

_Despite the story I'm about to tell, know that I am not violent._

_I am not malicious._

_I am a result._

**I.**

Silence.

Something not often experienced by Clare Edwards, as she stands among a circle of mourning families. It hangs in the humid air heavily, weighing down her shoulders, stinging the corners of her eyes. Or perhaps, it is not the silence that makes the tears roll down her face. As much as I would like to say that it goes deeper, I am almost certain that it is me that is causing all of this. I am what people are truly afraid of.

I am not the monster in your closet, or under your bed. I am not the spider sitting menacingly on the wall, and I am not the serpent that far too many people misunderstand. No. I am an abyss, an unknown darkness that ends all of your nightmares. Do you ever wonder why you wake up just an instant before you die? Do you know why you wake up in a cold sweat, your heart racing? It is because you are afraid.

Afraid of me.

Clare Edwards has never been especially afraid of anything.

Anything.

Except losing him.

I stand in the corner, watching her face as they lower the coffin into the dank hole they have dug. Gently. Slowly. Carefully. The seconds drag on and Clare is about to jump out of her skin. She hates this. She hates this ceremony, and she hates the silence.

Most of all, though, she hates me. Her eyebrows pull together, and she bites her lip, trying to stop its trembling. I should not feel sorrow for this girl, but I do. There is something odd about the way she mourns. She does not sob, and she does not stand like an emotionless statue. She is somewhere in between, and I can feel her soul shaking inside of her. It's healthy, alive, but it writhes as though it has been torn apart violently. Like something has been removed.

It is not often that I find two souls wrapped so tightly together. I almost couldn't bear to watch as his was taken from his body. The screams that came from both of them were deafening, like steel being ripped completely in half. The true definition of soulmates, as ironic as that sounds coming from me. I am not supposed to feel. I should not be capable.

But I am.

And I have made a mistake, coming here during this ceremony. It feels disrespectful, almost, to intrude. But I am far too interested to leave now, and so I know that I will stay as long as I am possibly allowed.

Whispers of comfort float around the circle as the burial comes to a close, Clare looking on as the last shovel of dirt is turned upon Eli Goldsworthy's grave. I feel his soul pressed against the glass behind me, looking at the scene before us. I can feel as it saddens, I can feel him longing for the girl. I can feel his regret. And for once in all the time that I have existed, I wish that I did not have the burden of sending him away into the dark unknown.

It is what I do, though. It is what I am.

As more and more people leave the site, Clare remains unmoving, her eyes glued to the polished marble. Once she is completely alone, she reaches out to touch the edge, brushing her fingers along it's smooth texture.

"I am so sorry, Eli," she says, her voice broken. "For everything. For every little fight. They mean nothing. I love you with everything inside of me, and I wish…I wish we hadn't wasted the time." She is crying again, and her soul is writhing; aching. I can feel her emptiness. Clare Edwards has finally given in. She is the first to apologize. But she knows there won't be a response. There won't be a reassuring kiss, or any solid acceptance. Her words are whispered into the now chilled air, still heavy with my presence. Carried away by the wind.

It is then that I, myself, can feel the life drain out of her. I can hear her break into millions of little pieces.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, and the words are alien on her lips as she sinks to her knees, finally giving into the sobs.

**II.**

Eli Goldsworthy and Clare Edwards were two of the most hard-headed people in the world. Though time and time again it was brought to their attention just how different they were, one thing remained the same. When they disagreed, there was no, absolutely _no_ giving in. Not even when one was right and one was clearly wrong. Where an apology would usually stand there was determined silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak, or the first to stop, for that matter. Though they loved each other to death, that had always been something that had driven them apart. They were _stubborn._

But where some of you might take this as a bad thing, I can assure you, that it was never their downfall. That bit will be discussed at a later time. No, you see, that was where the passion came from. Yelling and screaming and arguing, even when they weren't all that mad. It wasn't every day that this happened, so don't assume that either. I'm simply saying that Eli and Clare were two very…passionate, sincere, tenacious people. Because every time, every single time, it ended in what most would call the end of a bad cliché romance novel.

It ended only when they were so close together that their noses almost touched, their chests heaving with angry breaths and eyes locked in a heated glance. It only truly ended when one of them gave in to the growing tension and crashed their lips against the other's, frustration fueling every movement.

There were never any apologies. There were only unspoken words, electrified actions as their bodies became flush against the other's, heat radiating off of sweat-coated skin as clothes came off, and the tension dissolved as they came to their release. To them, it was beautiful. It was routine. It was what kept them alive. Not just lovemaking itself, but the closeness it caused. 'I love you's were frequent. But 'I'm sorry's were unheard of. And for some reason, both of them had always been okay with that.

As one might expect, they were young. Lively. Both full of optimism. At least, one of them was. One of them had a bright future mapped out for them. I, of course, knew that the other's journey would be cut short. I could see it from a mile away.

For the humans, though, it was rather unexpected.

**III.**

It happened one normal Friday evening. Eli didn't see it coming. He didn't see the drunk barreling down the highway.

I did. I always do.

I remember that I was rather solemn that day. The wind was quiet and the sky had dulled down into a dusky gray as clouds hung over-head. Despite what one might expect, traffic around the area wasn't terrible. Everything was almost silent. And so I waited. I waited until I could feel the shake of my instincts taking over, until nothing remotely human was left of me. I was darkness. I was the unknown. I was Death itself, and I was about to do what I had done millions of times over.

Now, do not be deceived. I do not take lives. I am not a murderer; that is something that can only be carried out by humans themselves. Humans are destruction. They corrupt the world in which they live. I am not a part of the killing. As stated, I am nothing more than the aftermath.

I am simply a result.

I stood silently to the right as the cars rushed past. The crash itself happened rather quickly. The slam, the harsh sound of bending metal, the shattering of glass. The thud of a body landing on the road. The silence as all of the pieces settled. Silence. Calm.

Chaos.

Many stepped out of their vehicles, some pulling out cellphones and others rushing to the site. Yelling. Crying. Frantically trying to get an ambulance over to the area.

I loomed over a circle of people, looking at the young boy's unconscious face, waiting. His pulse rung in my ears. I vibrated with the sound of his slowly quieting heart. I felt the resistance of his soul as it struggled to stay in his battered body, trying to hang on for the tiniest bit longer. Eli Goldsworthy was dying. And no matter how fast the ambulance arrived, that wasn't going to change.

**IV.**

The ambulance carrying Eli had long gone. The police remained at the scene, the drunk driver unharmed. He would be questioned and arrested when sober. In my arms, there was a soul. A quiet soul. A grieving soul. His soul.

August 19, 7:17 PM.

Eli Goldsworthy had been officially announced dead.

**V.**

Clare Edwards is now safely in her bed. She cries softly to herself, missing the warmth of a sleeping body next to hers, the secure feeling of a promise still kept. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger, mocking her.

She doesn't dare touch it.

I stand in the corner of the room. This is my last visit, I know. I can feel that I will never return here until her soul too is ready to leave this place. I also know that I should not be prolonging my stay. I should not become interested. I have made a mistake.

Clare tosses and turns, restlessness in her bones as her sobs become even more pronounced. She hates herself for doing this. She hates that she cried at the burial, and she hates that she's crying now, when all she wants to do is not feel a thing. She wants to feel numb.

She wants her Eli back.

I know, that in time, she will be better. I know that in a few years she will continue on with her life. But I also know that she will never be the same. There is a piece of her missing that was taken away, and that piece will never be replaced. The nightmares will never stop. Despite what many say, that time heals all wounds...it doesn't. Not fully. There is always a prominent scar left behind by a death. People are never, ever the same.

I think I've been around long enough to know that.

And with that thought, and a final glance, I leave. I leave, going back into the darkness consuming the fate of millions. I go back into the endless unknown, waiting for my next stop. My next job, the next death. I know that I will do this billions and billions of times more. Because wherever there is life, there is death.

As much as I would like to leave it at that, I must say, I truly wish that it wasn't always so.

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><p><strong>O.O Whale.<strong>

**Um.**

**I don't really know what to say except this odd...odd...odd piece of fanfiction took me over a week to write. I can say that a passage from The Book Theif definitely inspired it, if you couldn't tell. Other than that...I am pretty much as clueless as you.**

**Though, it would certainly make my day if you could leave a review. (hey, I rhymed! :D) lol k. I'm going to sleep now.**


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